


Of Nightmares and Excel Spreadsheets

by kayswizzzle



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayswizzzle/pseuds/kayswizzzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wakes up from a nightmare to discover that Sherlock has been taking very thorough notes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Nightmares and Excel Spreadsheets

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of these characters. BBC Sherlock belongs to Moftiss.

John opened his eyes, thankful to be free from yet another nightmare of his time in Afghanistan. As his breathing slowed enough for him to begin drifting back to sleep, something moved behind him and John felt something slide across his waist. A single word was uttered in response to his sharp intake of breath, by a voice that John could never mistake.

“John.”

Suddenly, the events of the previous day came rushing back to him.

It had been a particularly grueling case. Two young girls had been kidnapped around 10am, and by 5, Sherlock still hadn’t managed to piece together all the clues. Hoping to take his mind off the case, and get some food into his system, John had suggested they get dinner at Angelo’s. Begrudgingly, Sherlock agreed. In his mind, he reprimanded John for needing food at a time like this. However, the deep rumble in his stomach betrayed his concentration. It had been three days since his last “meal” – half a piece of toast that John had practically shoved down his throat one morning and a sip of tea – and Sherlock figured a bite or two off of John’s plate wouldn’t be too detrimental to his focus on the case. In fact, about 15 minutes after they had sat down at their regular table, Sherlock had walked John through all the details of the kidnapping case and taken 3 bites of John’s mushroom ravioli. As soon as he picked up his fork to steal another bite, Sherlock was struck by a revelation. All the pieces of the puzzle finally fell into place and he could practically see into the kidnapper’s mind. He knew exactly where the girls were and rushed out of Angelo’s, phoning Lestrade on his way out.

Sighing heavily, John ate the rest of his dinner in peace. Knowing he wouldn’t see his flatmate for at least a few more hours, John decided that a nap was in order. 

What he planned on being a twenty-minute nap, turned into 5 hours, filled with visions of his past that he so desperately longed to ignore. John was transported back to Afghanistan, his ears filled with the sounds of guns firing and helicopters flying overhead. In his nightmares, every normal sensation seemed heightened tenfold. John could almost feel the bullets speeding past his head. After a particularly long round of enemy fire, John decided it was time to fight back and reached for his gun.

He woke blindly grasping for the cold metal of his gun, but instead found himself holding on to something soft, silky, and warm. As he blinked the sleep from his eyes, John realized he was clutching the arm of one Sherlock Holmes. The room was basked in the warm glow of the lamp on his desk, Sherlock’s face looked impossibly perfect as the light hit his face. Pushing that thought from his mind, John looked down and noticed the rings of sweat around his neck and underarms, dark against his grey t-shirt. He must have somehow shucked his jumper off while he was asleep. Slightly embarrassed at the state he must be in, John realized he was still gripping his flatmate’s arm, he quickly let go and sat up, also noticing that his legs had been draped over Sherlock’s lap, with Sherlock’s other arm resting casually across them.

“How long have you been sitting there?” John asked after he yawned.

“About an hour,” Sherlock replied. “I debated waking you up, but past attempts at this only led to your being increasingly short tempered. Besides, you calmed down a great bit after I sat down. Normally, I leave before you wake up, but once you grabbed my arm, that was not an option.”

“Yeah, my therapist said it’s best to let a PTSD victim – wait, you’ve done this before?” John was shocked. Sherlock rarely showed affection and the fact that this small action had been repeated god knows how many times baffled John.

“Yes,” Sherlock stated matter-of-factly. “About a month after we met and you moved in, you began have flashbacks often. Cases helped decreased their occurrence, but during lulls, they became more frequent. I noticed that my proximity to you during your episodes altered the severity. I would differ my interefence each time, recording the results after. It has been most helpful in alleviating my boredom between cases.” And with that, Sherlock opened the spreadsheet he had created on his computer containing the results of his actions during John’s nightmares. There was a column for words, one for noises, one for location, and one for touching. The column for touching seemed to have the most positive results.

“I’m glad my nightmares have been such a great outlet for you.”

“John. The goal of my experiment was only to help you, not to mock you.”

John sensed the hesitancy in Sherlock’s voice. When did Sherlock ever shy away from explaining his experiments? Searching for his face in the dark, John could feel Sherlock avoiding his gaze. Reaching his hand out, John finally found Sherlock’s cheek. He could feel the younger man’s body tense beneath his touch. Emboldened by a growing warmth in this belly, the good doctor ran his thumb back and forth along the peak of his flatmate’s impeccable cheekbones and whispered, “Thank you.” Immediately, Sherlock leaned into the sensation, much to John’s surprise.

If that surprised John, what happened next left him speechless. Literally. 

As suddenly as he had leaned into John’s touch, Sherlock sprung out of it, wrapping his arms around John’s waist, one arm curling up and around to cradle the back of his head. Pushing them both onto the bed, Sherlock pressed himself flush to John, pinning him on his back. With all the hesitancy and naivety of a teenager, Sherlock gently pressed his closed lips to John’s. Chastely pressing a kiss to his lips, Sherlock pulled away from John. Before John had a chance to say anything, two warm lips were pressed back to his, this time open and searching. John welcomed their presence, imitating their movements, a small moan escaping from the back of his throat. Placing his hands on the small of Sherlock’s back, John began to trace aimless circles on the silk robe that separated his hands from the smooth expanse of his friend’s back. As they explored each other’s mouth, slow and unassumingly, John began to feel sleep tugging at his mind and eyes.  
“Sherlock,” John whispered into Sherlock’s mouth, which was still hovering over his, lightly pressing kisses to the corners of his mouth.  
“John.” Said more as a final statement than a response to John’s implied question, Sherlock rolled onto his back, pulling John along until he was nestled against his side with his head resting on Sherlock’s shoulder. John knew he should demand an explanation to what just happened, knew he shouldn’t leave this until morning, but his eyes hurt to be open and Sherlock’s shoulder, despite being all bones, was deceivingly comfortable. It also didn’t help that Sherlock was running his fingers through the long hairs at the nape of John’s neck.  
“Sherlock, we real-“ was all that John managed to say before he was overcome by sleep.

The next morning, John was awoken by a furious clicking of computer keys. Rolling to face the source of his noise, he was greeted by the sight of Sherlock sitting on the floor, hunched over his laptop. Not wanting to breach the silence of the morning and desperately hoping Sherlock would speak first, John felt the weight of the world lifted off his should when Sherlock interrupted his inner monologue.

“John, last night, was purely for testing my hypothesis.”  
“Of course, Sherlock. It’s all fine.”  
“However, being that my other studies were extensive, and repeated experiments always provide the most consistent evidence, further case studies will need to be held. Would that be agreeable to you?”  
“So, what happened last night, will, erm, be a regular occurrence?”  
“Yes, John. Must I say it again? You know I hate to repeat myself.”

For the first time since waking up, John realized how well-rested he felt. He had dropped into a dead sleep next to Sherlock, sleeping soundly through the night for the first time in what felt like ages. For this benefit alone, John nodded his head and managed to choke out a “yes,” realizing what he was getting himself into, but surprised at how comfortable he was with it.  
It was all fine, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic I've ever written! Please review and let me know anything I can change to make it better! Hopefully, this is only the first of more chapters!
> 
> *I've decided to make this a non-chaptered fic instead. I can't think of any plot so it's just pure fluff. the best kind!


End file.
